


Good Intentions

by Teaotter



Series: be not afraid [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: fan_flashworks, Gen, community: horror_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/pseuds/Teaotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s the only outcome of this particular situation: One dead Tony Stark, sorry about that, nice knowing you.</p><p>Except it doesn't happen that way.  Which means Tony's math was wrong, and hey, he can live with a mistake like that once in a while, obviously. But he can't just leave it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Goes slightly AU from the end of the film. Specific prompts are in the author's notes at the end.

His first clue is the arc reactor. 

No, actually, his first clue is the fucking physics. Because he's Tony Stark, and the fact that he is carrying a fucking nuclear warhead through a fucking wormhole in space is not enough to distract him from doing the math. 

He has to guess the rating on the bomb, though he’s sure he’s right about that because he’s always right about weapons. Usually. Frequently. Anyway, he has a solid estimate for the bomb, and absolutely certain knowledge about the completely inadequate radiation shielding on the suit, because he built the Mark VI himself and didn’t really plan to take it into space in the first place.

The expansion sphere of an explosion in vacuum would be easy, but he has to modify it for the gravity of the Earth coming through the wormhole. And isn’t that a kick in the pants, because _gravity_ works through _wormholes_ which means there’s a chance that Tony’s body might fall back home instead of floating forever in space.

And it will be his body, because no matter how he works the equations, that’s the only outcome of this particular situation. One dead Tony Stark, sorry about that, nice knowing you.

Except it doesn't happen that way. He wakes up on a pile of Manhattan rubble with the Hulk's roar trumpeting down the boulevard. Which means Tony's math was wrong, and hey, he can live with a mistake like that once in a while, obviously. But he can't just leave it alone. 

Maybe there was some effect from the wakes of the Chitauri engines -- and how the hell much interference would it take to shift the radiation pattern, anyway? He starts working the problem on the back of a napkin at the shawarma place until Bruce spills his water glass and the ink runs across the table. That's why Tony doesn't like working on paper; too ephemeral.

When he talks to Jarvis after Pepper goes to bed, the AI confirms that some radiation made it back through the wormhole before it closed. Determining approximately how much takes a bit more time and some tinkering with designs for a modified spinthariscope that Tony never gets around to building because he notices the fucking arc reactor first.

Which isn’t really a clue so much as a giant fucking neon sign with ten-foot tall letters, because the scar tissue is gone.

The original magnet installation, though clever in its own bone-headed stone-age kind of way, wasn’t exactly performed up to Beverly Hills beauty standards. And Tony’s improvements weren’t perfect either, considering he was operating on his own fucking chest at the time, without even a decent surgery bot to help him. So there were ridges of scar tissue around the edges of the insertion manifold, and some nasty exposed nerves along the inside of the casing. Those were only an issue when the arc reactor was out of the casing, and since that hardly ever happened without something else being horribly wrong, Tony considered that barely a flaw at all.

So when he’s in the shower and his fingers don’t find that normal, expected, thoroughly reassuring ring of scar tissue, it’s more than a fucking clue. It’s just that it’s also confusing as hell. As is the fact that he can’t get the cover off the arc reactor. Even once he gets his hands dry and gets back to the workshop and all the tools that put it on in the first place.

Tony’s unpacking the scalpels to see if he can carve the damned thing out of his flesh before it occurs to him that maybe, just maybe, he’s not thinking straight. He doesn’t remember drinking this evening, certainly not enough to make him hallucinate -- which is usually enough to keep him from standing straight, and the floor looks like it’s in the right place. But he’ll be really embarrassed tomorrow if Pepper finds him on the floor in his bathrobe, caked in his own blood, and moaning about how the arc reactor’s grown into his body like a chest-burster in reverse. 

Come to think of it, Pepper’d probably be pretty upset by that scene.

So Tony decides they’ll both feel better if he lets Jarvis run a full medical diagnostic on him before he starts any unplanned surgeries. He has two cracked ribs on top of the bruising he already knew about, but really, he didn't do too bad for staving off an alien invasion. He’s ready to congratulate himself on his cholesterol numbers and his highly improved blood pressure, but unfortunately for Tony’s ego, Jarvis’s readouts are wrong.

“You missed a spot there.” He taps impatiently at the translucent picture of himself to spin it again. If he has to fix Jarvis, too, this night is officially fired. “You’re missing the scar on my left knee.“ 

“No, sir, the image is correct.”

"I've had that scar since I was ten, don't try to gaslight me." Tony rolls his eyes, already calling up a diagnostic on the scanning equipment. Night, blown. “Maybe you can explain to me why it's missing from the display?”

“Because you don’t have it any more. “

It’s not Jarvis’s voice, though Jarvis really shouldn’t have let anyone else into the workshop without clearing it with Tony first. It takes Tony a moment to turn toward the door, and another to actually recognize Phil Coulson standing there.

And then Tony’s scrabbling to stay in his chair, because he almost falls out of it. And okay, maybe that drinking thing happened at some point when he wasn’t looking, because last time he checked, Phil Coulson was dead.

“No scars, no healed bone breaks –“ The obviously not-dead man takes another step into the workshop, letting the doors close behind him. “And you can stop touching up the gray in your hair; it’ll grow in like this.”

Tony takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Obvious answer: Nick Fury is a manipulating, lying, _son of a bitch_. “I presume rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated?”

“Oh, no. I was dead.” A tiny half-smile slides across the agent’s face. “I’ve been dead three times since the Hulk pulled me out of a collapsed building in British Columbia.”

Tony blinks twice as his brain finally balks at information. It's the first time all night, and it's not like he can blame it for this one. Seriously, he needs a drink, or maybe about three hundred milligrams of caffeine in an insufflatable medium. “You are _not_ implying what it sounds like you’re implying. And if you are, I think you might need to get your delusions looked at.”

That half-smile disappears. “Be glad he knew the suit came off.“

_Because the arc reactor doesn't._

Tony's mind goes blank after that thought, and okay, maybe that balking-at-information thing started earlier in the evening. But it's a stupid, nonsensical idea, and obviously untrue besides, and no pasty-faced agent is going to see Tony Stark flinch that easily. So he rolls his chair a few feet closer and pushes his brain down that unlikely path. “Okay, let’s go with it. As a hypothesis. The Hulk can bring people back to life, presumably by roaring at them. Sound therapy, I’ve heard of that. _From crackpots_. Which Bruce isn’t, so I assume he’s entirely unaware of this miraculous talent?”

Coulson tugs one of the workshop stools over and sits down, back still ramrod straight. His chiropractor probably loves him. “We don’t think Dr. Banner suspects.”

“Well, really, who would?” Tony laughs, but it comes out too high-pitched, so he swallows the rest back. He refuses to panic for a mere hypothesis. “After all, he was trying to duplicate the Super Soldier research, not turn himself into a – hey! So he’s like Dr. Jekyll _and_ Dr. Frankenstein, all at once, that’s hilarious –“

Tony catches the barest edge of an expression on Coulson’s face. “Wait, what was that about?” 

Coulson just waits, in that ridiculously uber-calm way that Pepper really admires. Just for that, Tony’s going to make Coulson come to breakfast, and Pep can see how she likes that look when _she’s_ freaking out. 

Tony plays back through what he was saying before he derailed himself with his own scintillating humor. “Holy crap. The Super Soldier research. What the hell was Erskine trying to do?”

“Hell is the wrong word, Mr. Stark.” Coulson breaks into a full-blown smile, which is creepy as fuck and Tony would like him to stop now. In fact, he’d like to go on record as saying that Phil Coulson is no longer allowed facial expressions at all. 

“Dr. Erskine wanted to make an angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the _"Resurrection gone horribly wrong"_ square on my Horror Bingo card and the _"Mythology"_ challenge at Fan Flashworks.


End file.
